Where Words Fail: Epilogue
by TEi Has Pants
Summary: And so, the time slips away...
1. Epilogue 1

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Epilogue 1: To die would be a great adventure**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

It was a beautiful summer's day.

Okay, so - not _here_. Here, it was muggy and dank and rancid and it smelled notoriously like Pipsqueak farts. The bugs didn't bite him though, and that was a definite plus. They couldn't perceive him even if they wanted to; the one advantage of hanging around longer than he ought to. Still, outside this swamp? Beautiful weather. The sun shone, the birds sang, a pleasant breeze whistled past.

He'd wanted to follow them for as long as he could - to make sure they found resolution, that they did what was right by them. He wanted to make sure they found happiness. After all, they'd been important to him, and they still were, they always would be, even though a barrier separated them that could only be broken by taking that one last, fantastic journey.

They had no idea what would await them on the other side, but it was one hell of a trip. He didn't know where he'd heard it before, but whoever had said it couldn't be more right: dying was a great adventure.

Perched on one of the rough knuckles of the banyan tree, with one knee pulled up to his chest and an arm slung across it, he watched as the Swampbender educated them on what they had seen - on the "cruel" visions that had been imparted on them. How the depravity was just a mask, sort of a test, really - and how both of them realized that, yes, the hallucinations had been terrible, but also blessed. How one of them should get over his guilt for losing his faith, and learn to appreciate what he had...and how the other should realize her potential as leader.

Good. Fantastic. He felt himself beaming, and the wheat stalk clenched between his teeth bobbed up and down appreciatively. They got it. They understood. He had no hand in the visions or the definitions that his Freedom Fighters drew from them, but he was thankful that the Spirits seemed to read his mind anyway.

He sat as close to them as he could. Hell, he could have reached out and touched them if he wanted - but he knew (experience told him so much) that he could try as hard as he wanted to invoke some kind of physical contact, and they wouldn't feel anything. He could shout till his face was blue, and the only sounds they'd pick up were the chirruping of bugs and frogs and birds. He could even take a leak right there in front of 'em and only the banyan tree would notice and benefit. Maybe. He hadn't had to pee since...

So. Proximity was all he had, and it was a commodity running low. Time, too. He didn't have much of that - he'd already lingered for too long, and something greater, something beyond the mortal world, What Lay Ahead, beckoned for him.

He let the talkative one finish coming to their shared conclusions, and his grin broadened. "There we go. That's my girl," he said, resisting the urge to muss up her hair like he had done when...well, when he had the capacity for that sort of thing. Again, that time had passed.

They rose, and he did with them; he watched as they proceeded to climb down the tree's gnarled, lumpy roots, then vanish into the thicket of vines surrounding the tree itself.

He might not see them again for years and years...but they were well, they were happy, and they were moving on. Would they have hardship? Definitely, life was always willing to pop those up on a guy. That just made all the good moments so much sweeter, didn't it? In any case, he hoped that the time he could perceive them and be perceived _by_ them did not come until much later. That would mean their clocks had run out, and they, like he himself, would be forced to part ways with everything and everyone they loved.

He crooked his head to the side and planted a hand on his hip, flashing the same renegade smirk his comrades, his friends, his _family_ had known him for so well in life.

"You watch over her, Longshot. Stay safe," he said, chuckling. The corner of his mouth quirked as he echoed his dying words, "And take care, my little Smellerbee."

Pressure - something tingling and coy, something that had been building up inside him since...well, you know, finally relieved itself from him; still grinning, he let What Lay Ahead claim him, and the swamp, the world, his home, faded away into a glittering cloud of hope and promise.

Jet's days were over...but the Freedom Fighters lived on, and could not have been in better hands.


	2. Epilogue 2

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Epilogue 2: ...And straight on 'til morning**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Much later_

She sits now, and the forest still possesses the aromas of the seasons as they soar by with the same grace as they'd always done. At her side is a single sword, and even though her vision has long since degraded, she knows that the blade, long and made of glistening quicksilver, is sparkling in the fading sunlight that seeps between the canopy of leaves. The grip is made of interwoven straps of fabric and leather, so even now, even with its ever-increasing, yet unchanging weight, it would not fall from her grasp. The pommel is round, blunt, more better applied for bashing and pummeling, and the guard is a curved globe that wraps around her hand, protecting against any blades sliding down against her own.

She prefers these types of guards now. Time has taken many things from her, and although her fiery spirit was not one of them, losing any more fingers would make her useless for anything but talking.

Many things have changed, she thinks; she casts her foggy gaze over the wooden platforms, the small huts, that make up her home, mostly blurred but still clear enough for her to make out the shapes. The basics, however, never deviated, and probably never will, so long as they serve a purpose in this world. And they do. In war, in peace, in strife, in victory. They have developed their own society, their own culture, and the children - not necessarily orphans anymore, although there are always more, even this long after the war - laugh and play around her.

She wraps thin, bony fingers around the hilt of her sword, the grip rough beneath her fingers and palm, and feels the ghost of a smile tug on the corner of her mouth. (_He_ used to grin like that, imperceptible unless you look for it, and yet it never stopped being genuine.) Drawing a deep breath, she raises the remains of her mangled left hand up to her head and brushes strands of white hair from her eyes. Even at this age, she notices how she shakes, how unsteady she's become. It would have sickened her at a younger age, but with time has come wisdom and she has lived a long life, indeed.

Her ears prick, and she focuses her gaze straight ahead into the ever-spanning canopy of crimson leaves for which their home had been named. The scents of cinnamon and hickory through the air, a tantalizing, poignant aroma (that hasn't changed either) and dragonflies hum nearby. She loves this time of year, and remembers spending much of it with...with _him_, and the other one (_that_ one's face is almost a blur now, she had been so young at the time), and feels that it's only appropriate.

She is no longer their leader; she has retired, long ago, passing the mantle onto another with a steadier step and a different view of the world. That does not stop them from acknowledging her, from respecting and loving her, and that more than anything else makes her want to...to smile, to cry, because she feels content knowing that all this is there for her even if the others have all since moved on.

Even if she's the only one of her generation left. The others had been swept away by time and age; all those she had grown up with were gone.

And - yes, time has played that funny trick on her, that one where her senses falter and her body betrays her despite her best intentions. Her sight has been terrible for years now; back...before, when it'd first started going, she remembers refusing to get spectacles, because that would have just looked silly. And her sense of smell...well, that's on its way out, too, but it won't matter much longer. She takes another deep breath, this time through her nose, and relishes what she can.

She can still hear, though, she'd always been good at that (not as great as _him_, but still better than most), so she picks up on the scraping, sandpaper sound of shoes pushing away from tree bark, and the low, hollow thump of someone making a stealthy landing. It would have gone unheard by any other person, but not her. She has been around far too long.

"My days as a warrior may be done," she says, her voice still hoarse, but wiser now, "but those old instincts never go away. What may I do for you, Great-Grandchild?" Even though she is older, and her hands shake, her voice remains firm.

And here - yes, the girl (barely twenty years old) walks around so she may face her Great-Grandmother, a hodge-podge of Fire Nation and Water Tribe armor clinging to her body, hiding the curves she so much more acutely fills out into than her Great-Grandmother had by the time their ages had matched. Even three generations removed, her Great-Grandmother can still see some of herself in the girl, and a lot of _him_ - the shape of her Great-Grandchild's face, the gentle, subtle curve of her lips, and the way her eyes glisten with feelings gone unspoken, all of these came from _him_. A flail hangs from a sheath on her belt, the ball strapped up so it would not swing and bump against her thigh and knee.

"Nan," the girl says, nodding. The Great-Grandmother sees her smile more in her eyes than her mouth, and acknowledges it. "New plans are under way. Earth Kingdom's moving to take Fire Nation territory by force. Freedom Fighters being dispatched to take care of the problem, but intelligence reports tension is thick."

She does not waste words, another trait she inherits from her sire some generations removed. Many strangers to the girl assume that it's simply a poor grasp of spoken word, but those around her know better, know to read her face as she speaks, to hear that which was unspoken.

"Have you consulted Hobble about the preparations you need made, Wasp?" the Great-Grandmother asks, leaning back against her chair and trying to shift her weight. Her body responds only sluggishly, and this annoys her more than anything else. After all, she has made her peace, seen to all the loose ends she can. Wasp was in charge now, not her.

"Yes, Nan," Wasp replies, her face framed by sharp-cut black hair that shines almost as brilliantly as the blade of her Great-Grandmother's sword in the citrus-colored sky. She keeps it at the level of her jaw line, and it's much more manageable than her Great-Grandmother's had been at that age. In a way, she is envious, but a lifetime of dealing with split ends and strong shampoos has only made her image that much more roguish. "Organizing a team right now. Kitchen staff is preparing jerky."

"Good," she says, nodding once more at the younger girl, her Great-Granddaughter. "I trust you will see everything goes well for us, child. I send you off with my blessing."

"Thank you," Wasp says, bowing - stiff, formal. Showing her respect, as everyone else did, even though her Great-Grandmother did not desire it. After a moment's silence, Wasp stands up straight again, and - and she says, "Nan..."

"Come here," she beckons, using her right hand. She notices, briefly, that her peripheral vision is flickering - she's finding it hard to focus. Wasp moves in, the greens and reds blurring into one blob of color, and she can feel her Great-Granddaughter's arms wrap around her, gently, cautiously, as if concerned she might damage her Great-Grandmother in her frailty.

Wasp is mistaken - although her senses are awful and her body betrays her, she still has enough strength left within her body. She pulls her arms out from under Wasp and returns the hug, her Great-Granddaughter's cheek warm against her own.

"I love you, Nan," Wasp whispers, and she hears the child's voice, who is not a child at all, quake. It makes her throat grow thick, because - she hadn't thought it was _that_ obvious.

But Wasp took much from Longshot, even after his passing. She could perceive so much more than any of the other Freedom Fighters. Perhaps Smellerbee did not give her Great-Granddaughter enough credit.

"I love you too, Wasp," Smellerbee whispers, and her eyes sting and her brow plucks and her voice comes out tight and quiet because - because she _knows_, because _Wasp_ knows. She does not cry, though, because she has shed enough tears on her friends and loved ones - on Jet, on Longshot, on the rest of them - that she need not spare any for herself.

Without another word, Wasp parts from Smellerbee, and even with her vision going, going, she sees her Great-Granddaughter, the leader of the Freedom Fighters, smiling - so broadly, so openly. There is sadness in her chocolate eyes, _Longshot's_ eyes, and really it is only a matter of time, isn't it? Wasp turns, perhaps out of respect, or perhaps out of fear, and she is gone as stealthily as she arrived, and Smellerbee leans her head back against her chair once more.

"I hear dragonflies," Smellerbee murmurs to herself, feeling her eyes slide shut. And she does - in the distance, with the groaning of the trees as their branches shift, the leaves whispering secrets amongst themselves...and, the children, playing, laughing, forever and ever and it would be alright because the Freedom Fighters will still be in good hands without her.


End file.
